


Enough Rope

by fabricdragon



Series: Odyssey [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Sherlock, Blackmail, Canon-Typical Violence, Collars, Conditioning, Dubious Consent, F/M, Flogging, Jim Moriarty is more than a bit not good, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Medical, Multi, Mycroft IS the British Government, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychology, Rope Bondage, Strength Kink, Tattoos, Threats, but is very good at it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-19 13:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11898594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: Follows directly after Soul Proprietorship.Jim Moriarty, Sherlock Holmes, John Watson and Lloyd Serdon leave England, while Sebastian Moran stays in London with Mycroft Holmes and Anthea. Characters from previous story arcs make a reappearance, and the Secret British Government is faltering...





	1. England

Mycroft had expected any number of things for Sunday night–it was the last night Jim would have him before he had to go back to work, after all–but what happened was that he, Sebastian, and Jim simply slept together: it was surprisingly comfortable except for one regrettable incident involving an errant elbow. He was permitted to return to work exactly on schedule Monday morning with the only symptom of anything amiss being somewhat pained feet.

Jim took the collar off of him before he left the house. He hadn’t expected that to be an issue, but he felt odd and kept checking his tie as though it had come undone

Anthea brought him tea after several meetings and closed the door. “Are you alright?”

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“You… seem much better than I was expecting.”

“I’m not looking forward to meeting with Jack tomorrow, but otherwise I am as well as I can be. How are you holding up?”

“I’ll be fine, Sir. They are leaving Tuesday, aren’t they?”

“Apparently not all of them. There has been a substitution of Doctor Watson for Sebastian: Sebastian will be remaining behind.”

Anthea’s sudden attention would have escaped any lesser observation, but Mycroft smiled faintly, “Yes, he’s quite… interesting… and I’m sure he will wish company.”

Anthea allowed for a small smile back, “Do you know how long the trip is?”

“No, I expect I will be informed tonight.” He quietly passed her a piece of paper with the tea cup, “I will inform you as soon as I know.”

Anthea read the note before running water into the tea cup and watching the ink run before she dropped the note, and the napkin, into the trash.

…

When Mycroft returned home Monday evening–a bit later than expected, owing to a crisis in Brussels–he expected trouble: instead, he found Jim and Sherlock engaged in an apparent cut-throat game of “go fish”.

“My apologies for being late: politics.”

Jim simply sang out something about food in the kitchen and went back to his card game. Mycroft wasn’t certain if he was meant to eat in the kitchen, but reasoned that Jim hadn’t said not to, so ate quietly and washed up. When he came out they had been joined by Sebastian.

“So, Mycroft, I did say I was going to have you work on Bennison and I would like to get started before I have to hand your lessons off,” Jim said with a cheerful smile, “so go change into whatever you feel like working in and come down–you WILL be working hands on, so I advise scruffies.”

Feeling a bit bewildered, Mycroft did change into what passed–for him–as casual work clothing, and came down. Sherlock had apparently already retreated to his room. He went down into the basement and found that things had changed. There was no sign of Toy–McReady–but a clearly terrified Bennison was in his place.

“So, Mycroft, one of the problems you’ve always had is that you don’t bother to get to KNOW your victims,” Jim said cheerfully.

“Isn’t that rather counterproductive?”

“No, darling: how can you maximize the effect you want if you don’t know what you’re working with?”

Bennison’s eyes kept tracking back and forth frantically and he kept making noises around the gag.

“I’m not particularly interested in getting to know him: I already had to work with him,” Mycroft said with a curl of his lip.

“Yes, well, fake it,” Jim said firmly. “Now, the first question is always the end point: what condition does he need to be in and what do you want?”

“Obviously.” Mycroft glanced at the impassive Sebastian leaning on the wall, and back at Jim. “Regardless of your opinions on my skills, I was generally considered one of the experts.”

Jim made a face. “Mycroft, the point is that you, and for that matter the whole team of yours, use brute force when you need a lever.” He looked thoughtful, “Let’s assume that your victim is not ever intended to leave and will be killed as soon as you are done with him: you need information and quickly–what would you do?”

“Drugs, probably.”

“A good first choice–didn’t work.”

“Speed being of the essence?” Mycroft started discussing what kind of damage could be done and still leave the victim able to talk. After several minutes Jim stopped him.

“Aaaand there’s your problem.” Jim shook his head with a sad smile, “You see, you would dive right into DOING some of that, but you would likely get better results by TALKING about it like you did–preferably with someone playing the doctor to discuss what he can take and still be lucid; meanwhile, you watch and see what makes him twitch.

“In any case, you don’t want to do ANY of that, and you need someone to declare most of that off-limits in front of him, and then you start with techniques that do much less damage.”

“If speed is of the essence and he’s not leaving–”

Jim patted his hand. “First of all, if the victim knows they are not going to have a chance to live, to escape, or to bargain, you just lost a LOT of leverage.”

“True,” Mycroft nodded, "which is why we wouldn’t tell them.”

“Honey…” Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. “Smart people are so stupid sometimes, I swear… Look, if you start out by doing graphic obvious injury, you just TOLD THEM that they aren’t getting out alive. How do you think I knew? If you carve your name in someone, that pretty well says you aren’t afraid of anyone finding out, and that was SUBTLE compared to what you just talked about.”

Mycroft felt a good bit like the floor shifted when Jim mentioned that–he sat down on the extra chair that had been brought in. “Well… Yes.”

“Which of course brings us to the SECOND point: if you do drastic damage to start with, you better be damn sure you are NOT going to find out he had information you need them to access personally, or any other reason to change your mind.”

_Like he’d changed his mind with Jim… Even if he’d just wanted to keep him to read at home it was going to be difficult, and if he wanted him to come to the office? To go out?_

Mycroft smiled sadly, “Yes, well… I got a rather express life lesson on that, didn’t I?”

Jim sniffed, “But here you are not applying it! You need information quickly–you don’t know what the information IS, obviously, so you have no way to know if you need him in good shape!”

It wasn’t until over an hour later that Jim started demonstrating with a knife…

Mycroft followed them up to the room very quietly and shivered when Jim petted him. Before they went downstairs Tuesday morning, Mycroft went to his knees and thanked Jim very sincerely for not breaking Sherlock.

~

Anthea expected Mycroft to be a bit agitated Tuesday–after all, his brother was going to be away with Jim Moriarty–but she wasn’t expecting the utterly blank and withdrawn Mycroft who showed up for work. She didn’t get a chance to talk to him in private before the meeting with Jack Springfield.

“Mycroft?” Jack frowned at him, “Is something wrong?”

“Mostly personal business, Jack: my brother is being typical and my mother has eyes everywhere, it seems like.” Mycroft sighed, “Can we go over the issues with South Korea after the Brussels incident?”

“Of course,” Jack nodded. “The Brussels incident is simpler, if tedious.” It took hours to go over everything involved in the incident and Mycroft was his usual brilliant self, finding patterns that no one else could have managed. Anthea got everyone tea and set up to discuss South Korea.

Jack looked thoughtfully at Mycroft and tapped a pen to his teeth, “Actually, I wanted to have you look at an interrogation problem; perhaps Anthea can get the paperwork together while we do?”

“Hmm? I think an outside perspective might be useful, actually. Anthea? Would you mind?”

“Of course, Sir.” Then she frowned as she saw Mycroft ‘accidentally’ put his phone down as though to leave it in Jack’s office. She pulled hers out and put it down as well and saw an approving nod from Jack. Jack put all three phones into a desk drawer that looked like it was lined with… _signal proofing. Ah_.

They all walked down to the old interrogation area, not the current one but the one that was being rehabbed. At the first room, Mycroft pulled out a very odd scanner–one that Anthea didn’t recall seeing before–and ran it over his suit; nodding, he put the jacket into a cabinet, and then he ran the scanner over Jack’s suit and raised an eyebrow. Jack looked at the scanner in shock and put his jacket next to Mycroft’s. Anthea’s clothing came up clean.

They walked further down into an area that was utterly abandoned looking and didn’t even have cameras, and finally into what had obviously once been a holding cell… and Mycroft closed them in.

“Where ARE we?” Anthea asked. “This place is ancient!”

“It is ancient: in fact, the electrical wiring dates back to the war,” Mycroft said calmly. “Which is why we are here–it’s the one place I can be certain that even Lloyd Serdon can’t eavesdrop, assuming he knew this part of the building existed.”

“I take it I missed something, Sir?”

“Jack and I have known each other a very long time, Anthea: we have our own means of discussing problems–best you don’t know.” She nodded slowly.

Jack leaned on the wall, “Alright, we were both bugged somehow–”

“I knew I was; I chose that suit for a reason. Moriarty put a bug in my suit jacket that has to be ACTIVATED to transmit: one of his agents in the building must activate it after entry and deactivate it on leaving, so it never passes the scanners in active mode.” He sighed, “It took me ages to figure it out, I’m afraid.”

Anthea gasped and Jack groaned, “So he got some of our meetings one way or another.”

Mycroft nodded, “He hasn’t activated it after Anthea reported on herself and forced my admission–too risky, I suppose–but that was very likely how he found out about Jeffries. I admit I hadn’t expected one on you, Jack.”

“To the best of my knowledge, Moriarty has never been anywhere near me.”

“Do you use a laundry service, Sir?” Anthea asked suddenly. “He has connections with one that mostly does linens, but–”

Mycroft smiled, “Oh, of course, and he likely has an agent at the better cleaners for suits as well: very good, Anthea.”

“Just how badly undermined are we?”

“Jack… you may be the only one left on the committee he doesn’t own.”

“Fuck.” That swear word coming from Jack Springfield was rather stunning. “Serdon?”

“Actively working for him–is convinced that Moriarty rescued him from Bennison, which has the problem of being true.”

“He couldn’t have gotten to the others…”

“Bennison did; he got Bennison–yes, alive–and interrogated him thoroughly, which means he has all the leashes Bennison had.” Mycroft pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered them around; Jack took one.

“You know that?”

Anthea shrugged, “I was offered a shot at Bennison if I wanted one. We saw him in Moriarty’s custody just this weekend–still alive.”

“God! Still?”

Mycroft sighed, “He was chemically interrogated and his information and blackmail extracted over the past weeks: he is currently alive in my house, although I expect he would be quite grateful to be executed.”

“In… your house?”

“He was at one of Moriarty’s holdings–I trust you understand I won’t explain where–but it was potentially compromised.” Mycroft winced, “He decided to use my basement to continue my education.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Oh, you misunderstand: he’s using Bennison as a practicum, He lectured on psychology in interrogation and demonstrated what he laughingly called ‘basic knife work’ on him last night.”

“For the hands-on that you do: knives… are your specialty,” Jack said slowly between the nicotine drags trying to hold his migraine at bay.

Mycroft laughed very darkly, “I… am… an… amateur.”

~

Sebastian went over what Jim had told him again. He expected it would take most of his attention, really, and Toy had gone over to sincere begs and pleas by Tuesday mid-morning… Boring, really. He tidied up and went back to Mycroft’s house.

Mycroft came in after work, clearly lost in thought. He had that vague look that Jim got sometimes, like his body was on auto-pilot while his mind was running on something Sebastian probably could never understand. In this case, though, Sebastian would bet he was remembering the little demo with the knife–he’d been properly cowed, after.

“God, what I wouldn’t like to do to you,” Sebastian couldn’t help but say it as he watched the man go through the motions of coming in and setting the security back up.

He startled back to reality better than Jim did: he just twitched and turned slowly–didn’t throw a knife.

“Ah. I expected you’d be off–”

“Toy?” Sebastian smiled politely, “Nah, broke him and tidied up the mess–between Jim’s usual business I handle and you? I figure I didn’t have time.”

“I don’t suppose you plan on telling me what Jim’s instructions were?”

“Of course I do.”

Mycroft startled a bit at that. “Oh! I was expecting you to try unsettling me and hinting.”

Sebastian snorted, “Go get the drinks out, Mycroft, and I’ll go over by points if you like.”

Mycroft watched him curiously and got out the scotch–Sebastian didn’t seem to be the brandy type. “I do trust you don’t expect me to kneel.”

Sebastian grinned, “Expect? No. You might find it fun in the bedroom, though: I’m good with ropes.” Sebastian watched him smooth the façade over the interest and laughed. “Don’t bother, I saw too much.”

Mycroft sighed and sat back, “So?”

“He wants the new playroom set up. I got catalogs and webpages marked, and we can go over the best placement. I’ve been with Jim for a good while, and trust me having that ready,­ or well in progress anyway,­ by the time he gets back will put him in a much better mood.”

Mycroft nodded slowly, “May I ask you a question?”

“You can ask; no guarantees.”

“Jim… packed quite a great number of sex-related objects…”

Sebastian laughed, “No, he didn’t: he hardly packed any! He’ll be buying the rest of what he needs on location, but then Lloyd isn’t very adventurous–little mouse.”

“Lloyd went with them? Why did he take Lloyd?”

“Well, I expect partly so he can keep an eye on things remotely,” Mycroft nodded, “and secondly without me along I figure he wants a sex partner.”

“Not… Sherlock then?”

“Oh… Are you still fretting over that?” Sebastian looked amused, “If he expected Sherlock in his bed, he wouldn’t have allowed John to go along.”

“True, I suppose.” Mycroft finished off his scotch. “I simply don’t want my brother paying any more for my mistakes.”

“I actually think Jim likes him.”

“That’s no guarantee of safety: I think he likes us.” A memory of Jim proclaiming that he loved him–and all that implied–made him shiver.

“Heh, no… Whatever he has going with either of us, it’s not the same thing–Sherlock is different.”

“I hope so. However, you were saying?”

“Obviously, I’m to continue with any lessons on Bennison–although if you want to cut his throat anytime you can, and I’ll dispose of the body.”

“I wouldn’t have expected the option?”

“No point if you can’t take lessons from me, or you aren’t interested–it would just reinforce bad technique, Jim says.” Sebastian smiled very darkly, “I can play with Bennison while you’re at work but only if you permit it–you have the final say on that. However, Bennison never leaves your basement alive; so no matter what else you decide, he dies here unless he’s still alive when Jim gets back: then its Jim’s call.”

“I think… if you WANT to spend a day with him, you may–that’s for his attempts on Anthea,” they both nodded at that, “but otherwise, I would prefer him gone.”

Sebastian nodded slowly, “You understand you aren’t allowed to be around Bennison unsupervised or when I’m playing: Jim doesn’t want you associating sex and sadism.”

Mycroft smiled faintly, “I am aware of that: I didn’t know you were. I also have no interest in Oliver except possibly for taking his skin off, but after Jim’s example it would be… crude.”

Sebastian agreed but continued, “So, no fun times with Bennison or anyone like that, and obviously you can’t take me down… but I’m allowed to take you down as far as you let me, as long as I don’t leave any permanent marks.”

Mycroft stopped. Sebastian thought he might have stopped breathing for a moment. “Isn’t that rather risky?”

Sebastian just smiled and let the predator show and let his claws out–Mycroft could probably always see them anyway. “Yes.”


	2. America

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile Jim, lloyd, Sherlock and John head to America  
> and a meeting...

Tuesday morning, Heathrow, and John Watson was bemusedly sitting in first class on an airplane. He’d never BEEN in first class before and it was utterly surreal. He was sitting next to Lloyd Serdon, who was dozing off after having been up apparently all night. Sherlock was on a completely different plane and he had no idea where Moriarty was. John re-read Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire until they arrived in New York.

~

Sherlock Holmes was sitting in first class wondering why Jim Moriarty was sitting back in business class. They were officially not traveling together, but it was still a bit bewildering. He understood why John and Lloyd were on a separate plane–security and hostages–but it did seem a bit peculiar. He’d been handed the first Harry Potter book by John before they got going, and was trying to wade through it–it was every bit as horrible as he had expected, but at least the language puns were amusing. Jim was right, the linguistic amusements and hidden jokes were the only way to get through this: he determined to treat it as evidence and pressed on.

~

James Dougherty–harried business traveler and totally NOT Jim Moriarty who would only ever travel first class or in a private plane–was sitting in business class in his off the rack suit trying to read the pile of papers for his business trip. He ended up in a discussion with his neighboring flyer about the likelihood of various trade measures affecting their respective businesses and got a nap before arriving in New York.

~

After flight transfers, passport changes, and utter screaming exhaustion, John passed out in a hotel room somewhere. He didn’t wake up until Sherlock shook him and quietly said the word “Tea”. He groped out blindly and had some…

“What the hell is this?” John stared at a cup of liquid that looked like tea, but wasn’t.

“American tea, it’s horrible.” Sherlock sighed, “Would you prefer coffee?”

“I would prefer anything!”

Sherlock got him coffee and John slowly sat up. “Where are we?”

“Currently we are in a very expensive hotel in downtown Chicago.”

“Okay, now what?”

“Apparently, we wait for Jim. I haven’t seen him since he got on the plane with me in London.”

John sighed, “I don’t suppose there’s any point in trying to… I don’t know, do anything?”

“There is very little point, no.” Sherlock shrugged, “If my brother continues to improve, I will have to admit that Jim may actually be GOOD for him, and I have no interest in aggravating Jim when he has been reasonable.”

“Mycroft is… better? He looked surprisingly okay before I left, but…”

“He seemed to be much better, and I think even happier than he has been in a while,” Sherlock nodded, “although I didn’t see him Tuesday morning. I don’t know how fast things will happen once Jim is here, so I suggest you get a shower and get breakfast.”

Always good advice as John knew from the military. Jim did, in fact, show up not long after John was dressed and eating breakfast.

~

Jim came in, barely managed to be civil at Lloyd, snapped something about coffee and hating airplanes, and vanished into a shower.

Lloyd frowned, “We have a meeting with the chief of our security staff in just a few minutes.”

“We do?” John looked toward the shower.

“Yes. This is a private company that we hired–Jim was supposed to handle it.”

Sherlock thought for a moment, “Well, I’m certain we can handle the basics until Jim gets settled.” He started more coffee and handed it around.

Jim had apparently gotten out of the shower but not returned to the main room when there was a brisk knock at the door. Sherlock tilted his head and muttered, “Military? No, Police… a smaller man? No…”

John sighed and went over to open the door. “Hi, I–” A brusque woman pushed past him and walked in.

Sherlock blinked once, “Ah! A police woman, that’s why it sounded wrong!” He looked her over, assessing: _Anger over fear; older woman in a competitive field, but doesn’t dye her hair to cover the grey, so highly confident of her abilities; hates us?…_

“What?” she frowned at him.

 _The vowel sound in that was British, but she’d lived for a number of years here in the states._ “The knock said police; the hand was smaller and finer, however it was too high on the door to be a small man–”

“Former police, currently the owner of a private security firm. We were hired, but someone had the balls to demand I show up personally to hold their damned hand.” She glared at the three of them. “Who the hell are you?”

“I don’t believe I should introduce myself,” Sherlock answered, glancing at the other two.

“Then you can just hire yourself some other security,” the woman snorted at them and started to turn away.

“Hullo, Liz,” Jim said from the doorway–Sherlock noted that his Irish accent was stronger than usual. “It’s been simply ages; glad to see your charming personality is still intact…”

~

The security woman–Liz, as Jim called her–froze. John recognized the way her body went tense and relaxed–this was someone who’d found themselves surrounded and outgunned and was just waiting to see whose side they were on because there was shit all you could do.

“Sir.” Her voice didn’t shake. “I had heard you were dead.”

“Liz, we’re all friends here,” Jim smirked. “You had HOPED I was dead.” Jim went over to one of the chairs and sat down, then clapped his hands, “Gentlemen? This is Liz–she’s currently using some terribly boring last name like Brown–”

“White,” she said through gritted teeth. “You picked it.”

“So I did… and set you up with a lovely business. Anyway, this is Sherlock Holmes and his blogger John Watson–I’m sure you recognize the names.”

“Oh…” She looked vaguely pitying at them both. “Are they coming to work here?”

“Good guess, but no,” Jim said with a smile. “And this is Lloyd Serdon, he’s my personal pet.” Jim held out a hand and Lloyd came over immediately and knelt down–still had the laptop tucked under his arm, John noted.

Liz didn’t look shocked; she mostly looked even more pitying and vaguely ill. Her eyes kept tracking around the room as if she expected something.

“Sebastian isn’t here,” Sherlock said suddenly. “Jim left him managing things in London.”

John was just wondering why he said that when he saw a slight relaxation–just slight–from the woman, and realized she stopped having her eyes tracking around the room quite so much… Sebastian hurt people for Jim…

“Quite right, Sherlock: Sebie makes Liz nervous–of course, so do I.” He leaned down and petted Lloyd. “Lloyd? Why don’t we go test out the bed while these three get acquainted, hmmm?”

“Yes, Sir,” Lloyd said happily and got up.

Jim led him out but paused before he left the room, “Sherlock is my escort for one of the events I’m going to, at least. He’s very observant, so brief him on security, will you dear?”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Oh, and Liz? Ask him how Greg is doing.” And Jim walked out with Lloyd.

As soon as he was gone she sagged into a chair.

“Uh… coffee?” John asked.

“Yeah, wish I could put some booze in it.”

“It’s a bit early.”

“Fuck early, he’d skin me… or worse.” She laughed a bit, “He’s the only one who makes me want to drink and he’s the reason I can’t.”

Sherlock spoke quietly, “Jim said Sebastian couldn’t come because one of his earlier projects was here… you, of course.”

“Me,” she agreed, sipping gratefully at the coffee. “So are you really a genius detective? Because he sure as hell was never just a children’s actor.”

“Yes. He forced me to fake my suicide to protect my friends.” Sherlock nodded at John.

“And then dragged you off to a cell somewhere?”

Sherlock sat back and steepled his fingers looking at her, “No, my brother dragged HIM off to a cell in his house–Jim captured me as part of his revenge after he escaped.”

Her head came up fast. “Someone… ohhh…” Her eyes almost gleamed. “I hope it fucking HURT.” Then she shot a look of horror at Sherlock. “Oh God, what–”

Sherlock shook his head. “I have been almost entirely unharmed, physically, other than a run in with an angry Sebastian which Jim cut short.” She shuddered. “My brother has been the focus of his attention and–as Sebastian has stated–Jim has gotten better at what he does.” Sherlock took a sip of his coffee. “There has been minimal physical damage.”

John slowly sat back down and asked, “You were… Sebastian’s project?”

“Sebastian was new then: he’d been a prisoner not long before I was kidnapped, judging from the fact that his ‘room’ was just a bigger cell down the hall…” She looked off at the walls. “Jim was just training him–I was a teaching tool. Jim would demonstrate…”

Sherlock sat up abruptly. “Like Bennison!”

“What? Oh! Yes, he’s being kept as a practice for Mycroft…” John trailed off uncomfortably.

Sherlock, always one for a puzzle, cheerfully explained, “Sebastian will be taking over while Jim is gone, yes, but–”

Liz hissed.

John sighed, “Everyone is a hostage or has hostages, I guess.”

Sherlock frowned, “I suspect Sebastian is more stable now than he was then–if that was actually not long after Jim got him–”

“He still had restraints and a winch in his room…” Liz said quietly.

“He was picked up not long after he was discharged from the military from what he said,” Sherlock nodded.

“If he really was involved in the prisoner abuse scandals, then… I was kidnapped eight months after that.”

John looked at Sherlock and then in the direction of Jim’s rooms. “And we still can’t actually do anything, can we?”

“Not that I know of, although… Miss White?”

“Liz, please. White is just a name he picked–from chess pieces, I think.”

“For various reasons, Jim gives me more leeway than many other people. I can probably negotiate something on your behalf.”

“It’s been years, I’ve been declared dead–the only plus side is my ex-husband was suspected–I don’t have much to go back to. I just hoped the bastard was dead, along with Sebastian, and I would never have to see them again.”

“I had a similar reaction to Sebastian, at first.” Sherlock sighed, “Although as I said, I believe he is less dangerous now.”

John cleared his throat, “Jim said you should ask about Greg?”

She shrugged in a perplexed fashion. “Is it a code or a threat? Because I don’t know any Greg I would ask about–is that some poor bastard Sebastian ripped apart?”

Sherlock tilted his head, “You were with the Met?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps he means Detective Inspector Lestrade?”

Her eyes lit up and she smiled, “Oh! God, that’s been ages…. We used to hang around together all the time! Wait… Detective Inspector? He made DI… damn…”

John nodded slowly, “Greg is a good friend–and not involved in this mess.”

Sherlock cleared his throat, “He is only peripherally involved, in the sense that he knows Jim is alive, and he has some idea that my brother was hurt by him–he saw the tattoo, if nothing else.”

“Tattoo?”

“A J and M intertwined and a–”

“Crown.” She snorted and held out her wrist. She had a charm bracelet on her wrist; John recognized the sobriety medallions… She held out a medallion with a familiar J and M, and a crown.

“I assume the tiger medallion is for Sebastian?” Sherlock asked quietly.

“Yes. Moriarty made it very clear that I was still his PET,” she spat it out. “If I didn’t do well enough here, I could always go back.”

John suddenly looked up remembering what Sebastian had said to Anthea in Mycroft’s basement, “I was new then… I hurt her… I liked her…”

“What?”

“Sebastian… he was talking to Anthea, he said she reminded him of someone but she’d do more than just bruise his ribs and legs… All he would say about it was that he was new then and he hurt her…then he looked really pained and said he had liked her and he shut down and didn’t talk about it anymore.”

Liz looked terrified and ill. “Oh, God…”

Sherlock pointed at the bathroom and she fled.

“When did he say that?” he asked John.

“When we went down to talk to McReady. He said he just realized that Anthea reminded him of a prisoner of Jim’s back when he was new…”

Sherlock nodded slowly.

When Liz came back he changed the topic to security arrangements. After a basic discussion of the security, she asked, “You’re his escort?”

“Strictly decorative, as far as everyone else is concerned, but he wants me to deduce them–he wants me to observe while they pay attention to him.”

She looked at him and then at John, “Have they…?”

“No,” Sherlock shook his head. “Sebastian wanted to rather obviously at first, but at this point seems to have settled and hasn’t been looking at me like that–perhaps a confused wistful look–and as far as I know his passes at John have been pro forma.”

She glanced at John and John winced, “Sebastian kissed me, but that was to make Sherlock jealous. He has made it clear he’s available, but… nothing otherwise. He’s in a relationship with Anthea.” John sighed, “A LOUD relationship with Anthea.”

“Can you…” she looked at Sherlock, “get her away from him?”

“You misunderstand: Anthea is in a relationship with him voluntarily. She usually–what’s the phrase? Tops?”

John muttered, “Rakes her nails down his back and bites, apparently; he said he brought a first aid kit–for himself.”

“You have GOT to be fucking kidding me?”

“No.”

“I saw some of it, unfortunately, and they’ve talked about it in front of me,” John grumbled.

Sherlock looked thoughtful, “She allowed him to be aggressive at her once, recently… she seemed distressed but uninjured–and said she was rattled–but she was emphatic that she hadn’t used a safeword and it was not my concern.”

Liz just stared at them both. “Good God…” After a very long silence she asked, “Does he–Jim–still whip him?”

“Yes,” they both answered. John coughed and deferred to Sherlock.

“He was flogging him recently, and… they engage in ‘knifeplay’ as well.”

“Still… I’d feel sorry for him if he wasn’t a rapist bastard.”

“He said he was safe around people–including Anthea–because Jim…” John trailed off.

“Jim conditioned him to control his sadism,” Sherlock said as he got everyone another cup of coffee. “By his own statement, he wouldn’t have been safe around Anthea–or one assumes any of us–before Jim got him.”

“So he’s back torturing your brother? And you’re just… here? But you said he isn’t… hurting you? Or sleeping with you?”

“My brother was another sadist, Liz,” Sherlock sighed into his coffee, “hence his kidnapping Jim and torturing him. Jim… is conditioning him. Thus far, it seems to be good for him, much to my surprise. Technically, John is a hostage on my good behavior, and I am a hostage to my brother’s, but in actual fact…

“As long as Jim is controlling Mycroft’s sadistic impulses without damaging him? Without destroying who he is? Then I am quite content to cooperate.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liz is introduced in Chapter 17 of The Taming Of The Tiger http://archiveofourown.org/works/10997853/chapters/25293522  
> Mind the Tags!


	3. Tuesday and Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first part (London time) is Tuesday evening. The second part (Chicago) is Wednesday day in London. Time zones are a bear...

Mycroft looked at Sebastian across the table and very quietly said, “I don’t trust you.”

“You don’t trust anyone.” Sebastian grinned, because that wasn’t a “No”.

“That is not entirely true.”

“Yeah? Well, you KNOW how much fun I can be, and you also know one other thing: if you aren’t in good condition when Jim gets back, he’ll take my hide off and make a rug out of it.”

“Perhaps…” Mycroft managed to clear his throat. “We should work on the playroom.”

Sebastian knew he’d won–just no point in pushing it too fast–and politely agreed to work on the playroom. Mycroft breathed a sigh of relief, and Sebastian showed him the furniture and the restraint points and what you could DO to a person with some of them. After Mycroft was left staring at some very high quality glossy catalog images for just a bit too long– _and you gotta love a ginger: they blushed beyond a dream_ –Sebastian let the smirk show.

“So, Mycroft, if you get your overdressed arse up to the bedroom–stripped and washed up–I could be convinced to tie you down and make you beg.”

Mycroft stared at him and you could just SEE him trying to say no. _Let’s give the line a bit of play…_

“Or I can go downstairs and play with Bennison… or I could go back to my flat and call one of the girls–your call.” Sebastian laid odds in his head: _I’m thinking he’ll choose Bennison, but it will be close…_

“I… think you should get whatever you want to do to Bennison over with, and clean that up.”

Sebastian just smiled and said, “Sure thing. Oh, Boss left your collar up in the bedroom–in case you wanted to wear it.” And Sebastian walked downstairs.

 _He was going to break within a day._ Sebastian could tell.

*

Jim came out after a while with a pleasantly relaxed-looking Lloyd.

“All done going over the security?” Jim asked. Sherlock noted that his accent was still much stronger than it usually was.

“Yes, Sir.” Her voice was tense, but then she had been tense the entire time, and Lloyd seemed to make it worse for some reason.

“Good, then you can come into the bedroom and we’ll have a nice chat.” Jim very deliberately ran his tongue over his teeth. _Overdone._

John tensed and started getting set to do something rash. She looked desperate and torn between fight, flight, and resignation…

“Jim, please don’t,” Sherlock said, watching his eyes.

“Why not?” He didn’t look upset or even surprised. _He expected this_.

“I’m asking you not to,” Sherlock said, keeping his voice smooth and level– _and damn him, yes, the voice training was useful._ He signaled for John to stand down.

“It will cost you, Sherlock,” Jim smirked at him, but it wasn’t quite right: there was too much humor in it–he doubted they could see it.

“I know.” _You want this–I see it._

“Congratulations, Liz: he just bought you a reprieve…” Jim rolled his neck and stretched slightly. “Go over the building plans with Lloyd and Doctor Watson–Sherlock and I need to have a bit of a discussion–you can leave for tonight afterwards, Liz.”

John stood there, hands clenched, “Sherlock…”

“John, just put on some Brahms or something soothing, alright?” _Brahms lullaby–stand down, John…_

“Fine!” John snarled, looking frantic and worried, but he stalked over and made coffee, loudly, as Jim escorted him out of the room.

Once the doors were closed, Jim turned on the white noise generator he had already unpacked–or Lloyd had.

“You are brilliant, darling,” Jim said laughing. “Come kiss me.”

Sherlock sighed and kissed him: it felt good, but far less dangerous or intrusive than it once had. "You obviously didn’t want to bring her in here, so why threaten it?”

“Smoke and mirrors, Sherlock.” And his accent was a hint and whisper again. “So tell me what you’ve deduced.”

“You needed to reinforce that she was still under threat…” Sherlock frowned, “but why? Ah… Because she had hoped you and Sebastian were dead, or that you were and Sebastian was busy. Being a prisoner right after your public death has done lot more damage to your network than you’ve let on, hasn’t it?”

“Oh, a GREAT deal more.” Jim smiled, “Worse, it’s all to the parts I wanted to keep. The parts I was quite happy to let you prune away are still holding strong, but the more far flung holdings? Well… Darling Mycroft started a civil war.”

“So… why threaten her?”

“Liz never did tame down well, but then she wasn’t my usual project. She was a good cop–an honestly good cop: so rare, sadly–not a sociopath or a sadist, or someone with good blackmail material.” Jim patted the bed next to him and Sherlock sat down with a sigh. “But I hate to see good material go to waste.”

“You obviously expected me to interfere.”

“You or John, and of course you would step in to protect John.” Jim just smiled at him and waited.

“You… You can’t afford to show weakness in front of her, and the reason Sebastian isn’t here is so she can’t try to arrange an assassination and get both of you…” Sherlock started putting it all together. “You can’t let her see how badly Mycroft hurt you because she might try something… You could never get undressed in front of her, especially here where you don’t have armed guards that don’t work for HER.”

Jim applauded. “Very good! A bit incomplete, but not bad.”

“What did I miss?”

“Liz could shoot me without a qualm, but I have now set it up that she CAN’T shoot any of the three of you: Lloyd is obviously a poor, broken victim of my horrible, nefarious tortures.” Sherlock snorted. “John is John, of course, clearly another good man caught in my evil plots–”

“That is unfortunately true,” Sherlock sighed and Jim pulled them both down onto the bed and curled around him.

“And you, love, may be broken and strange, and she may not be sure how far I have my hooks in you, but you are one of the ‘good guys’ and you work with Greg… and now you–poor, broken shell of a man–have just gone off to be raped and tortured in her place…”

“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?”

“She’s melodramatic–which just proves that, no matter how odd you are, you were never one of the bad guys like Sebastian–”

“Good guys? Bad guys? You make it sound like a bad movie.”

“In any event, all three of you are now firmly in the category of hostages or fellow prisoners, not villains, which means dear Liz cannot shoot you.”

“Can’t she?”

“Oh, Honey, she’s worse than Greg: she is an honest to god, for real, incorruptible cop–protect the innocent and save lives…” Jim giggled into Sherlock’s neck. “I can’t even use her for the simplest of criminal enterprises… She runs a security company, and securing a meeting where she’s certain all sorts of evil is going on, but she doesn’t have to KNOW, is about as far as she goes.”

“How horrible for you.”

“Sweetheart, you are far more of a villain than she is, and you’re terrible at it.”

“Then why did you do that? Why keep her?”

“Not only did she get far too close to finding me and my organization–she lucked out on some things, and it was ages ago when I wasn’t covering my tracks as well–but she took down or severely hurt three other criminal organizations in London. She was a dead woman walking when I picked her up. One of the criminals was already arranging to frame her for the actions of some of the real corrupt cops.”

Jim snuggled into Sherlock some more, and Sherlock gave up and started petting his back.

“So… rape and torture was somehow an improvement?”

“How long do cops last in a prison? Especially cops that wouldn’t be able to NOT snitch?”

“Not long.”

“One of the groups she pissed off was a human trafficking ring: if they’d gotten her–and they almost did–do you think she’d be–” Jim waved toward the door.

 _Sane, alive, doing good work…_ “No.”

“I use her security company for honest security work, and to take down criminal rivals in the States… She doesn’t do anything criminal, she gets to do the angels’ work, and no one touches her against her will… but if she opens her mouth or anything happens to me?” Sherlock could feel Jim’s teeth as Jim grinned into his neck, “Sebastian gets his first pet back.”

Sherlock shivered and Jim started rubbing little circles into his chest through his shirt. “There, there, darling… my pet Tiger won’t hurt you.”

“Is he going to hurt Mycroft?”

“Not badly… and nothing Mycroft doesn’t permit.”

“You seem certain…”

“At first, it was mostly the fact that he likes Anthea–and Anthea likes Mycroft–that was the extra safety, but oddly… after Sebie flogged him and he went under that well? They started to connect a bit… I took a chance and had us all play together once we got to Mycroft’s house.”

“I REALLY don’t want any details.”

“Details? Honey, I have video! But anyway, once I got the two of them playing together they got along surprisingly well. I left firm instructions with Sebastian, but they should be fine.”

“Is there any way to check?”

“Naturally: I bugged the house.” Jim sat up suddenly. “You don’t think I would have left them alone together without surveillance!”

Sherlock couldn’t help it: he laughed. “No, no, I suppose not. You are far too much like Mycroft.”

Jim smirked and got out his phone and sent a text. After a moment he nodded and said, “She just left: we can come back out and I’ll check on things at the house.”

~

John had seen Liz out and gone back to pacing.

“Jim won’t hurt him,” Lloyd said after a moment.

“Jim is an evil bastard, and, yes, he would.”

Lloyd shook his head vehemently, “Jim only hurts people who are problems. Sherlock is fine.”

“Jim blew up innocent people as a game, and had me kidnapped, and forced Sherlock to kill himself or he would start shooting people!”

Lloyd was about to say something when his phone beeped and he looked down and typed something quickly–then he looked back up. “Jim is a hundred times better than people like Bennison, or Mycroft!”

John was trying to come up with a retort when Jim’s door opened and they both came out–both still fully dressed, if extremely rumpled.

“Sherlock are you alright?”

“I’m fine, John, I did try to tell you it would be alright.”

Jim laughed, “You are such a mother hen! I kissed him and we cuddled up on the bed until Liz left… jealous?”

“What?” _What did that mean? Cuddled up on the bed? Jim didn’t cuddle, so that must mean something_ –

“John, he means we lay down fully dressed on the bed and talked while he waited for Liz to leave–seriously.”

“I told you.” Lloyd said firmly, “Jim’s nice.”

Jim stroked Lloyd’s hair. “No, I’m not, darling–but I don’t hurt people who behave, and you’re my good pet.” Lloyd melted into it. _It was creepy_ , thought John.

Jim went over and sat down; Lloyd knelt down next to him happily– _REALLY creepy_. Jim got out his computer and said, “I need to check on Sebie and Mycroft, darling, bring up the cameras?”

Lloyd did things to his computer and Jim sat there looking at his own computer, humming and swinging a leg.

Sherlock pulled him away.

“John… you need to relax. This is why I sent you home from Mycroft’s house.”

“You… He was going to rape her!” John hissed.

“No, he wasn’t.” Sherlock looked at him calmly. “He couldn’t afford to let her see the scars.”

“What?”

“She wants him dead–understandably–so he had to appear invulnerable. Sebastian isn’t here, so she can’t kill them both–which means there is a dead man switch if Jim dies–and as he just explained to me, she will not kill an innocent victim or hostage, so he made sure she knew that’s what all three of us are–even though that’s not entirely true.”

“That… was a set up? You knew that?!”

“I deduced it. I wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he overplayed the villain role–”

“Sherly?’ Jim called over. “Do you just want a report or do you want to see him?”

“That depends on what he’s doing,” Sherlock answered.

“Right now he’s at work, but I have video of breakfast.” Jim grinned and his eyes crinkled up. “It’s adorable.”

Sherlock walked over and Jim tilted the laptop screen back. His curiosity finally got the better of him and John came over too.

Sebastian and Mycroft were simply sitting at the table eating breakfast: Mycroft fully dressed in his usual clothing, and Sebastian wearing nothing but boxer shorts. They didn’t appear to be talking or doing anything…

“What’s ‘adorable’ about it?” John asked.

“Mycroft said ‘Please’ when he asked for the butter, and Sebastian said it when he asked for more tea…” Jim looked like he might start cooing at the screen.

Sherlock was staring incredulously at the video. “They did–they actually did.” John realized they were both lip-reading.

Mycroft stood up and gathered his things to go, and Sebastian said something and tapped at his neck. Mycroft startled and looked embarrassed, and took off his collar. Sebastian walked over and put Mycroft’s tie on and whispered something into his ear and Mycroft BLUSHED…

John and Sherlock both stared at the video in shock. “That IS Mycroft, right?” John asked finally.

“It’s so sweet…” Jim laughed, “See, Sherlock? I told you they’d get along.”


	4. cold case

Wednesday morning when Mycroft had gathered his things to go to work, Sebastian had had to remind him to take off Jim’s collar. Sebastian had helped him to fix his tie afterwards, and quietly murmured, “I’ll put it in the bedroom for when you get home.”

Mycroft wasn’t able to get it out of his mind the entire day. He did manage to go over a number of things, and handle business well enough that no one noticed–or no one mentioned–but he found himself distracted. He and Jack were passing suggestions back and forth, but it was so very slow, owing to the methods they had to use. They scheduled a meeting of the entire committee for Friday and another for Monday; hopefully they would come up with a solution, because situations were becoming more and more difficult to manage.

Wednesday evening, Mycroft came home and was greeted by Sebastian who was working on the playroom plans.

“Long day?” Sebastian asked as he looked up from a floor plan of the house.

“Yes, actually, a very long day. We are far fewer in number and the political situations have been a nightmare.”

“You mean to tell me you can’t handle it all by yourself?” Sebastian looked honestly curious. “It didn’t seem like Bennison was much help…”

“He was useful, although my personal feelings about blackmailers were apparently justified in his case: more trouble than they’re worth.”

Sebastian was starting to say something–quite probably about dinner–when the alerts registered someone coming up the walk. Mycroft looked out and tensed.

“What’s the problem?”

“Detective Inspector Lestrade is here. If you will go into one of the other rooms, I’ll send him on his way as quickly as I can.”

“Oh, don’t bother,” Sebastian grinned wolfishly. “Let him in.”

“Greg Lestrade has nothing to do with this,” Mycroft said slowly, “and Jim let him go last time–his being injured or killed would be difficult to cover up.”

“No need for either as long as you play along, Mycroft–and as of now its Mark, not Sebastian.”

Greg rang the doorbell and Mycroft tried to put a pleasant expression on his face. He began wishing again for Jack’s headache medicine as he greeted Greg at the door. “Detective Inspector, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“It’s Greg, Mycroft, please! After everything? Sherlock said he would be out of town and asked me to check up on you.”

 _Oh, dear GOD, what was Sherlock playing at now?_ “He did? He didn’t mention it to me.” _Leaving him on the step would just raise more questions, damn it._ “Forgive me, I have been dealing with a great deal–do come in, Gregory.”

“Oh, I expect he forgot,” Greg said cheerfully as he stepped in. “He asked me over a week ago.”

_Ah, before everything blew up–that makes sense._

“Greg?!” Sebastian’s voice came from the next room, subtly changed in accent. “Greg! Good grief, man, what are you doing here?!” Sebastian walked in with a casual demeanor and a broad smile.

“Mark? Mark! It’s been a dog’s age! How the hell are you? I didn’t know you were back in London?!”

And ‘Mark’ and Greg were pounding each other on the back and asking about people they knew…

“I… had no idea you two were acquainted?” Mycroft HATED feeling behind on things.

Sebastian–Mark–smiled and lied smoothly, “I didn’t know you knew Greg! I guess I shouldn’t be that surprised, though.” He turned to Greg and continued, “Mister Holmes asked me to consult on some security issues–can’t discuss those, of course.”

“Of course!” Greg looked over at Mycroft and happily explained, “I’ve known Mark for years–since before I made DI.” Then he blinked, “Oh… I didn’t mean to interrupt business…”

“I don’t mind if Mister Holmes doesn’t. I was about to suggest a dinner break, in fact.”

Mycroft grudgingly gave in. “Please, do call me Mycroft–at least over dinner. Dinner does sound like a good idea, I expect Detective Inspector Lestrade–”

“Greg!”

“Gregory,” he nodded, “hasn’t eaten yet, either.” He glanced at ‘Mark’. “Apparently, my brother asked him to look in on me when he found out he would be out of town.”

“Well, given the security review, probably not a bad idea,” Mark nodded.

Mycroft noted that the house plans were still out in plain sight, but would just lend more credence to him being here for security purposes–at least all the other papers and catalogs were gone.

“Oh, almost forgot.” Sebastian pulled a card case out of his pocket and deftly extracted a business card. “You said you needed an extra card?”

Mycroft couldn’t help but admire the smoothness with which Sebastian was handling the information exchange in plain sight–he was an admirable agent, something easy to forget when he was being the obvious guard.

“Thank you, yes. I have had a few people ask for your contact information.” Mycroft barely glanced at it as he put it away: Mark Bran–Blackbird Security along with a webpage, a license number, a phone number… and a government contractor security code.

“Shall I order in dinner?” Mycroft asked politely while his head spun. _Blackbird Security? They did contract security work for a number of high level personal–private bodyguard services, household security, some limited courier work… They were a well-known firm, not exactly new but not old… and they were run by Moriarty._

“Greg runs to simple tastes,” Mark said cheerfully. “Maybe something like chicken?”

“Oh, anything! Thank you, it’s nice to get something besides a quick sandwich!” Greg said gratefully.

Mycroft nodded and went to order. _Jim owned a laundry and linen service that delivered table cloths and linens… into catered dinners that were otherwise secure. He very likely had agents in, or owned outright, a dry cleaner that handled Jack’s suits. He–through Sebastian, at least–had a respected private security firm that gave him access to…_

 _No wonder he could override my security_ , Mycroft realized with a thrill of fear and a lustful rush of admiration, _he probably owned a company that had inside access–when I replaced my security system he probably gained more access, rather than losing access_.

Over dinner the two of them spoke extensively about various sports–Mycroft made polite noises–and Mark made a comment referring to his long-standing offer to hire Greg.

 _Greg–who had been the last kidnapped officer when Jim baited his trap; the one who was never intended to be hurt. He wasn’t JUST a friend of Sherlock’s: he was known to Sebastian…_ Mycroft resolved to ask Sebastian about that in detail.

As they finished up and Greg prepared to go he stopped and looked at them both. “You know… when Sherlock gets back, I may just have a cold case to have him look into.”

“Oh?” Mycroft made a polite inquiring noise.

“Liz,” Greg said, nodding solemnly at Mark. Mycroft noted that ‘Mark’ didn’t react quite properly and started watching more intently.

“Liz?” Mark frowned. _Again, something off._ “You think someone can solve that now?” and then he blinked and said, “Wait, Sherlock Holmes… who was in the papers?” He looked over at Mycroft, “That Sherlock… Holmes?” _And now his mask was firmly back in place._

“My brother.”

“Oh… Greg had talked a lot about him…” he glanced at Greg apologetically, “but then when the stories started coming out… Wait, didn’t he commit suicide?”

“I told you he was the real deal, Mark.” Greg shook his head, “And yeah, we all thought he had–he faked it to go after the guy who set him up.”

“We are not starting this conversation as you stand in the doorway to go home,” Mycroft interjected firmly. “My brother was framed, and was essentially placed in a sort of witness protection program; he’s back now, although keeping a lower profile. Any further discussion can be had between the two of you over… sports.”

“Right, sorry to interrupt security stuff!” Greg shook hands with Mycroft, and Mark and Greg patted each other’s backs. “I’ll see if I can stop by again soon Mycroft–and Mark? Come by the pub for game night?”

“Sure thing!”

Mycroft closed the door and Greg walked to his car. Mark’s body language slowly bled back into Sebastian–it was close, but Mark was somewhat lower class in accent and far less of a predator.

“You met Greg after Jim.” Mycroft considered. “Who is Liz?”

Sebastian smiled in a way that even Greg would have recognized as dangerous–for some reason, blood began rushing to Mycroft’s groin–and he damn near purred out, “Detective Elizabeth Donner–Liz–vanished after being suspended from the force. Her recently ex-husband was suspected, of course, but when he got killed a year later that pretty well stopped that line of investigation.”

“You killed her?”

“She was my first pet.” The smile turned bittersweet. “I was new then–I hurt her pretty badly–but no, I didn’t kill her; she made a full recovery in fact.”

“The reason you couldn’t go with Jim,” Mycroft said. “Your earlier project that Anthea reminds you of.”

Sebastian nodded, “Jim kept her–she’s smart: smarter than me, honestly, or at least better able to bend under pressure.”

Mycroft winced, “Jim commented on my lack of ‘bend’, as you put it.”

“I remember: I was there. You… are odd.” Sebastian tilted his head and considered. “You don’t really have a lot of bend in you, but you did bend, and not break… I guess it’s the masochistic streak?”

“I have no idea.”

“I went through hell before I was willing to submit. It would have been a lot easier if I’d had more bend in me.” He nodded slowly and then reached out and ran a finger down Mycroft’s cheek and down his neck to his shirt collar. “I’m a lot better trained, these days: I won’t hurt you any more than you let me.”

Mycroft looked at him. “And if I wanted to take you down?”

Sebastian laughed, “First of all, IF you did that there would be no sex involved–and I think you’d rather have the sex.”

Mycroft winced slightly. _Yes, damn it._

“Secondly, you saw me with Jim, right? Sometimes I fight it; sometimes I don’t. If there’s no sex involved, I would probably fight it–do you have any idea what happens to you if I get loose?”

Mycroft’s heart rate sped up as he remembered Sebastian fighting the flog before he settled into the pleasant haze. “Oh… that… would be a problem.”

“Yup.” Sebastian grinned and moved closer to Mycroft pinning him against a bookshelf. “On the other hand, no permanent marks, and no damage? You like ropes, you like flogs… I have both with me.”

Mycroft remembered, without particularly wanting to, how very good Sebastian was at some things; he shivered.

Sebastian grinned– _Got you_ –“Green means go; yellow means slow down or give you a breather; red means stop everything. So pick your poison.”

“A flog? That’s what you did… the first time?”

“Yeah.”

“I have no interest in being left shuddering and incoherent for however long that was.”

“You won’t be: I want to hear you scream my name… or scream, anyway.” Sebastian leaned in, grabbed Mycroft by the hair and kissed him.

Mycroft put up a brief struggle and then Sebastian’s other arm went around his back and pulled him in and he was so very strong…

When Sebastian let him up for air his eyes were already dark. “Come on, Mycroft, let’s get your collar back on you and have some fun.”

*

Sherlock and John were left to their own devices for most of the day, although Sherlock did go by the meeting location to get an idea of the layout. When they got back there were a number of boxes that Lloyd was unpacking.

John’s eyes bugged a bit as he took in the amount of lubricants, massage oils, vibrators, and restraints.

Lloyd looked up, “Jim wants to talk to you two: he’s in the office.”

Sherlock walked in calmly–John with more trepidation. Jim was sitting, slowly twisting the office chair back and forth, while frowning down at a computer.

“London appears to be faltering.”

Sherlock shrugged, “Is that a surprise? You’ve removed at least five of the people running the intelligence network, and I doubt Mycroft is back to his usual self yet.”

“I admit I wasn’t expecting it to be this bad yet: removing Bennison should have improved things. Oh, he’s dead, by the way.”

Sherlock just shrugged. John rather uncomfortably asked, “Was it at least quick?”

“Quicker than he deserved: you don’t want the details. Toy is dead, too.” Jim smirked, “He didn’t hold out very long, and he got boring; besides, Sebastian wanted to have enough time for his proper duties–such a good Tiger.”

John supposed he should have been upset, but honestly he just felt relief that they weren’t still alive–suffering.

“So?” Sherlock was just standing there looking bored. “London is faltering: what did you want us to do about it?”

“Well, I had PLANNNED to have some of the more problematic pieces connected to my network taken down by you or your brother, as I said.” Sherlock nodded.

“What?” John once again was lost.

“Apparently, after I faked my death, Jim expected that I would get rid of some of the network–which I had started doing; that of course would weaken some of the other intelligence agencies, or at least occupy them.”

Jim sighed, “Instead, the pieces I had planned on keeping are falling apart or at each other’s throats, and the bits I had planned on throwing to the wolves are fine… So I either need to shore London back up, or cause enough of a diversion to pull some of the other agencies down.”

John frowned, “And we’re involved?”

Jim just smirked, “Sherlock is; Mycroft is–you? Not as much, but I was surprised by your acting skills so you might be of more use than I thought.”

“I can’t pretend to be scum for very long before I get sick.”

“How about pretending to be Sebastian?”

“…what?” John looked at Sherlock in confusion and saw him starting to smile.

“Oh… of course.” Sherlock flashed Jim that weirdly happy look. “He could come to the party?”

“Of course.”

“Wait, hold on… Can I be SEBASTIAN? I don’t get it?”

Sherlock looked at him thoughtfully, “Most people have never seen Jim, OR his senior guard, I expect–they know his reputation.”

“Which is what? Sadistic rapist?”

“No…” Jim looked amused. “Military, sniper, deadly, and utterly loyal… A few people know he’s a capable interrogator, but most people know one or two of those things at best. I’m sure a handful of people have reported that he is tall, blond, and muscular.” Jim held up a hand, “Eyewitness reports are a rarity, Doctor: if they see a blond, military man with a good sense of security and he gets called Tiger…”

John could see it. “You want me to come as your guard?”

“Yes. It would let you gather information and protect Sherly as well.”

Sherlock nodded, “And add a layer of protection against anything Liz tried or failed to prevent.”

“Exactly!” Jim said happily. “I’ll even sweeten the pot a bit.”

“How?” Sherlock arched an eyebrow at him.

“I’ll teach you how to do body massage on John: he’s much too tense.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mark Bran (Bran means Raven) Blackbird Security  
> “Mark” (Sebastian) first met Greg in Chapter 24 of The Taming of the Tiger (Sebastian’s back story)  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/10997853/chapters/25657476


	5. complimentary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smut and psychology

Mycroft allowed himself to be led to the bedroom, but he was thinking about power dynamics. Sebastian started crowding him into the bed and Mycroft came back up long enough to speak.

“Red,” he said calmly, wondering if Sebastian would actually stop.

Sebastian jerked backward as though he’d been burned. “What…?”

“So you do stop.”

“Were you just testing out the brakes? Because Jim started me on color codes way back…” Sebastian was looking suspicious at him, but was staying well back and his hands were in view.

“Yes and no. I was, in fact, ‘testing the brakes’, as you put it–but I also needed you to stop.” Mycroft shrugged, “We need to talk about this, and we need to do so when we’re both coherent.” He waved at the bed. “When I’ve been pushed onto the bed is not the time to have a chat.”

Sebastian cocked his head to the side. “Alright. So talk?”

Much to Sebastian’s surprise, Mycroft started to get undressed and put his clothes away. “I cannot permit you to use a flog on me.”

“Why not? You liked it… Went under like a dream–better than me, and Jim likes how I take a flog…”

“Because I DO go under, as you put it, or at least I have before–my experiences being limited. How good are you at stopping when the other person can’t or won’t stop you?”

Sebastian blinked at him, and then sat down slowly on the bed. “Huh… Normally pretty good, but… it’s a risk…”

“And there is no one here to intervene,” Mycroft pointed out.

“You have a point, however much I dislike it.”

“Ropes apparently also reduce my ability to control my own safety.” Mycroft looked at him, “You need to strip.”

“Thought we weren’t playing?” Sebastian looked the man over appreciatively. He wasn’t Sherlock, but he was tall, and intelligent, and Sebastian had a fondness for redheads and freckles.

“I think having some form of stress relief would be immensely helpful, actually.”

Sebastian shrugged and pulled off his shirt: Mycroft definitely watched the muscles with interest– _Oh, right: strength kink_ –and was studying the knife marks…

He folded his clothes and put them aside. “So what do you want?” Sebastian dropped all pretense and play and just stood there.

“What I WANT would be inadvisable without Jim present,” Mycroft sighed and walked up to him. “However, I seem to recall that you were very talented in bed, and Jim seemed to enjoy you even without blades or ropes or what not. Can you–will you–be able to play without that?”

Sebastian quirked a smile at him, “Play nice?”

“I do seem to have a bit of a ‘strength kink’, as you put it, so I don’t object to being held firmly–providing any marks are concealed by my clothing.”

Sebastian considered. “Get your collar on: it marks you as Jim’s. It’s a reminder of my limits.”

Mycroft didn’t want to admit how much of a comfort the collar was–although he suspected it wasn’t a secret. He went over and put it on.

“I do want to know more about your relationship with Gregory.”

“Not right now.”

“Very well.”

He came back to the bed and Sebastian looked thoughtful, “Is a bit of manhandling and force alright? Or do you want it soft?”

“I couldn’t say for certain, but I suspect restraint by strength would be… pleasant. I also liked sleeping with the two of you…”

Sebastian moved up until they were touching and slid his arms around Mycroft. Mycroft shivered as he was pressed skin to skin against the man.

“You really are touch-starved as fuck,” Sebastian chuckled. He flexed his arms, pulling Mycroft in firmly against him, and started kneading his hands into Mycroft’s back.

Mycroft didn’t so much relax as melt.

“Color,” Sebastian said firmly.

“Mmmm.” Mycroft blinked a few times and finally said, “Green…”

“Yeah, touch-starved and all locked up in your head and your suits… I guess once Jim cracked your control it was bound to happen.” Sebastian pulled him onto the bed, keeping him pulled up against him. He rolled them so that Mycroft was lying half pinned under him and kept kneading and rubbing at him, pressing into him and watching the color start to rise in his skin. _Gotta love a ginger._

“Probably is safer, at that,” Sebastian mused as he pinned Mycroft down and started teasing at his collar bone with his tongue. Sebastian considered the precise placement of Mycroft’s shirts, even if he took off his tie– _unlikely_ –and opened his collar– _even more so_ –and sucked a bruise that would be out of sight even so. Mycroft tried to strangle the moan and Sebastian pulled him in tighter.

“I seem to remember your nipples being pretty sensitive…” He moved down and sucked hard. Mycroft would have arched off the bed if he hadn’t been pinned. “Yup…” He bit and licked and Mycroft twisted and started snarling–and pressing up into him.

“Oooh. A little fight in there?” Sebastian grinned and made a point of pinning his hip into Mycroft’s crotch while he went back to work on the man’s nipples. Feeling him struggle was WAY better than the molten mess a minute ago–not that he was trying to get away: rather the opposite.

Sebastian moved down to his stomach and was teasing and tasting him, enjoying his increasingly frantic moans and attempts to move– _God, that was getting me hard_ –when abruptly he felt a shift…

Mycroft got his legs up around Sebastian’s hips, and twisted, pushing up against the bed with his shoulders and arms. Sebastian suddenly found his hold broken and Mycroft on top of him.

“If you don’t stop teasing, I will find out exactly how much it takes to break you,” Mycroft growled down at him.

Sebastian grinned, and let his claws out. Lying very still, he looked up at Mycroft: _pupils blown until his eyes looked dark, face and chest flushed, cock dripping with pre-cum…_

“Oh, you are a pretty thing…” Sebastian breathed softly. “Thank you. I always prefer a fight…”

Mycroft had just time to blink in confusion before Sebastian moved.

Sebastian stopped being gentle and just concentrated on not damaging him. Mycroft knew more about combat than he’d let on, but he wasn’t a Tiger. Sebastian wrestled him down onto the bed, using his strength to full effect. It was helped somewhat by the fact that Mycroft responded to pressure and strength by relaxing despite himself.

Once Sebastian had him face down and pulled backwards until his knees were under him, he leaned over and growled into his ear, “You know that Jim didn’t let me fuck you because I’m a lot bigger than he is… I can HURT you if I don’t take some care…”

Mycroft froze. It wasn’t the placid acceptance of being held, but the classic frozen stillness of prey to predator. Sebastian could feel his pulse under his hands…

Sebastian positively purred. “I appreciate the struggle, Mycroft, truly I do–there is nothing I love more than taking someone down hard–but I’m not allowed to damage you… so…” Sebastian grabbed the rope he’d left at hand during the day while Mycroft was out. “You get a choice: I can hold you down by hand, and you don’t get fucked… or I can use rope to secure you so I can make sure you’re relaxed enough to take me.”

Mycroft swallowed carefully past the hand on his throat–the collar on his neck seemed to have tightened somehow as well–“I can’t use codes if my mind–”

“Hmmmm….” Sebastian lay on him heavily, making it harder to breath as his legs were folded under him. “True… I could keep the restraint to the minimum needed… assuming you understand that at my size and strength, you really need me to prepare you properly…”

Mycroft’s heart felt like a jackhammer. _I should say Red… Sebastian would stop… wouldn’t he?_ His head was spinning between the fear and the sensation and his breathing was so very shallow… He tried to force himself to relax…

“Good boy…” Sebastian growled in his ear and Mycroft’s muscles went slack.

Sebastian almost let go, afraid that Mycroft might have passed out, but the tension was already returning… He tilted his head. _Praise? He was touch-starved… Was he praise-starved? A man with so much power…_

“Such a gorgeous body you have, Mycroft…” Sebastian let the threat in his voice carry, but deliberately didn’t compare him to his brother. Mycroft shivered and his breathing stuttered.

_Oooooh, this was perfect._

“I’m going to restrain your arms only, Mycroft: it should make this more pleasant, but you shouldn’t go under enough that you can’t safeword out…”

“If I stop responding…” The idea of being unable to stop when things went too far was terrifying. Mycroft had the certain feeling that after going under far enough he wouldn’t even recognize danger.

“Then I’ll have to stop,” Sebastian agreed easily, “and leave you hanging…”

Mycroft made a noise somewhere in between a growl and a whine; Sebastian chuckled.

“Rope restraints on your arms–” Sebastian started to make a sarcastic remark and cut it off.

Mycroft let his arms be moved into position–he remembered from Jim, even just that one time–forearms one above the other behind him. Sebastian quickly created a harness over his chest, making a point to frame his nipples since they were so sensitive, and restraining his arms thoroughly.

“Color?” Sebastian asked.

“…Green…” Mycroft was panting a bit from the position as well as the stress, and _Damn it, even that bit of restraint combined with his strength was fogging my mind._

“Good boy.” Sebastian said it with real pleasure and stroked a hand over his shoulder. Mycroft bit back a moan.

 _Oh hell, why is this that good_ … Mycroft felt like he was missing something critical.

Sebastian got out the lube and coaxed Mycroft into a better position, tucking pillows under him to keep him comfortable.

“I wouldn’t normally be this gentle about it, but Jim was pretty clear… and oddly enough I’m developing a fondness for you: my taste in genius has gotten rather refined…”

Mycroft hissed at the intrusion of a finger, “Your… taste in genius? Jim is hardly a type!”

“Ohhh, I see. You don’t know my background… Jim told you once…” Sebastian took his time with his hands and the lubrication, far more than he wanted to really but he was going to get Mycroft begging if he had any say on it. “…but I don’t think you were all there at the time. I’ve had a taste for the intellectual since military school. I suppose my very first pet, although I didn’t have the terms then: tall, slim, intellectual–looked delicate but...” He slid in a second finger.

Mycroft was trying to listen, to gather information about Sebastian, but his body seemed to be betraying him and it was hard to concentrate.

“Like you, Mycroft: you look a lot more fragile than you are.” Sebastian grinned and reached around to stroke his cock. Mycroft gritted his teeth against the moan.

“Oh, are you trying to listen? Sorry.”

“No, you aren’t!” Mycroft snapped. _The bastard was deliberately making this difficult while he talked about things I needed to know!_

“Not in the slightest,” Sebastian agreed laughing. “Truthfully, I can’t wait for Jim to get back, because I want to see you stretched out in a playroom with his knife work…”

Mycroft remembered Jim and knives and he moaned again and shivered under Sebastian’s hand.

Sebastian petted him gently, “You really are beautiful like this–of course, watching you come apart under the flog was heaven. Jim had to keep reminding me…”

Mycroft remembered Sebastian flogging him, then losing coherence, and after that everything being so surreal and hallucinatory until Jim… and Sherlock… Mycroft tried to fight his way up.

Mycroft was shivering violently and trying to regain control of himself; Sebastian recognized it, after all, and Jim had taught him exactly how to derail that.

“Good boy,” he murmured, as he twisted his fingers inside him and watched him arch and gasp. “Brilliant, beautiful…” Mycroft came into his hand.

Sebastian took advantage of the limp post orgasm state of his muscles to work him open even further.

“I went after Jim because he was smart, and looked like a twink–it’s hard to picture in his suits now, but he can look like anything… He was the accountant to a mob boss,” Sebastian laughed. “Well, he was playing that, anyway. I caught up with him by accident after we took that gang down…”

“You raped him…” Mycroft surprised him by being coherent enough to talk.

“Mmm-hmm. He offered to cooperate, I didn’t take him up on it–I was an idiot, he’s a glorious fuck–but I just wanted him screaming and begging: he didn’t.”

“He… fakes it well…” Mycroft was gasping a bit again.

“Oh yes, he can.” Sebastian grinned. “But the point is, I’ve liked smart since before… Like I said, got the taste for it in military school, and later out hunting… Brian was such a treat.”

 _Brian? Brian Jeffries…_ Mycroft froze. “Right… Jim… said you…” he trailed off in a moan as Sebastian worked his fingers.

“I would have loved to keep him,” Sebastian said wistfully and then considered, “but you’re smarter, and I do like a ginger.”

Memories of school came unbidden to mind. “Most… made fun of me.”

Sebastian leaned forward and bit at his shoulder blade. “Well, I was stupid as a kid, too: I probably would have.” He nudged Mycroft’s legs further apart. “Remember what Jim taught you about relaxing and tightening up?”

Mycroft made a noise that could have been a yes.

“Relax.” And he pulled his fingers out and added more lube. Mycroft tensed badly as he felt Sebastian’s cock press against him, so Sebastian pulled on the rope, tightening the restraints just a bit as he said, “Just relax and take it, beautiful.” And he pushed in.

Mycroft had thought he was spending too much time working him open, and suddenly realized he hadn’t spent nearly enough.

Mycroft gasped and jerked violently as Sebastian entered him and _Oh, GOD, it was wonderful to feel that fear and desire fight under him_. Sebastian wanted to force his way in, but the risk of damaging him and Jim’s reaction to that made him slow himself. He paused before pushing any further, just enjoying the tight heat and the panicked breathing.

“I… can’t… you’re too… big…” Mycroft was panicking. He had to relax or he would be hurt, but how in hell could you relax?!

“I do love hearing that,” Sebastian laughed. “You can take it–I loosened you up enough, although you’ll feel it for sure. Relax, and take some deep breaths… There’s a good boy.”

He pushed in slowly, “Come on, Myc, breathe… relax…. There you go… It will feel wonderful once you relax.” A few times Mycroft seemed like he might safeword or something, so Sebastian bit him or stroked him, and murmured praises in his ears until he was all the way in.

“This… is… not… good…” Mycroft panted under him. Unfortunately it was both: it hurt and he wanted it to stop, but there was a buzzing in his nerves and a breathlessness that was making him lightheaded.

“That’s just because you aren’t used to it,” Sebastian said with a grin. “Luckily you have a taste for subbing… Now be good… The worst is over with… If we stop now, you don’t get any of the fun that goes with it.”

“I don’t think this is fun!” Mycroft sounded sincere but a quick brush of Sebastian’s hand revealed he was hard and leaking.

“It will be, but you won’t enjoy sitting tomorrow…” And Sebastian pulled out and angled back in to hit the right spot.

Mycroft shouted and bucked under him. _Oh, hell yes, this was grand_. Sebastian didn’t bother with a reach around, just fucked him good and solid, making sure to hit the right spot as much as he could, and putting finger bruises on his hips and upper arms.

By the time Sebastian came, Mycroft had damn near passed out from the overload and just lay limply under him as Sebastian untied the rope and curled around him in the bed. _Mycroft would probably come up with some kind of payback for this unless I miss my guess, but damn that was worth it._


End file.
